I recently watched Marley and Me, a little begrudgingly, because I do not like to watch movies before I read the book. My dad mentioned the book to me a few years ago, and I remember really wanting to read it, but I just never got around to it.
The movie reminded me of Duke. Duke was not my dog, but I named him. My grandfather had run into a bit of bad luck with dogs, and he asked my mother to bring my sister and me along to go help him pick out a new puppy. Since I went to my grandparents' house every day after school and would have regular access to the dog, I was very excited. I have always loved dogs, and my grandfather was partial to border collies, who turned out to be great fetchers and runners and all around good dogs for keeping little boys busy in rural Texas. We went to see the border collies in the Ft. Worth Stockyards every year, and I had learned that border collies were very smart, and usually could be wonderful additions to imaginative adventures in the woods.
Duke turned out to be less than a stellar specimen of the breed. He habitually nipped at my sister's horse with people standing close by, and eventually landed himself a permanent scar on his eye from colliding with the horse's swift kicking hoof. He came home on several occasions with bullet holes in his sides. After a few years, his ears were missing pieces that had either been bitten away or shot away. For a time, I bred ducks in a small pen by the horse stable. Duke ate one of them. Whether he was smart or not, he was definitely not the most obedient dog.
But when I think of Duke, I never remember those things first. I remember going exploring in the woods, Duke by my side the whole time. Every so often, a squirrel would chatter viciously at us, and Duke would bolt to the tree, keeping the killer squirrels at bay while I made my way to the next checkpoint. When nobody was around to have a catch, I would throw just about anything, and Duke would retrieve it, and taunt me with it until we ended up wrestling on the ground. Eventually the both of us would tire out completely, and I would lay with my head on Duke's chest, rising and falling from the heavy breathing. Often we would fall asleep in the grass like that, until a car pulled up and Duke would run to greet the newcomers with a generous amount of barking and prancing.
When I was older, I would work on my grandfathers land and Duke would stay by my side, protecting me from squirrels as always, often adventuring on his own, but always nearby. At the end of the day, we would take a ride down to the local Dairy Queen and get an ice cream with our earnings. Duke's favorite were dip cones. He rode in the center of the truck's bench seat, right next to me while I fed him his dip cone. I usually had to wait to eat mine.
There were times, where Duke fulfilled his job description (man's best friend) quite perfectly. Sometimes, he felt like my best friend, even when I became older. He was non-judgmental, always by my side for whatever I asked of him, ready to goof off and play, and when it was time to sit in the grass and watch the sunset, he was there with me leaning easily against me with a panting grin. At those times, his eyes would say, "Today was a good day."
I wasn't around when Duke died, and I found that when I went to visit my grandparents' house, it wasn't the same without him. He added character to the house, and when he was around, there was always something to do, even out in the country. I think that is what I miss most about him. He was the best companion for adventure I have ever had, and he almost inspired adventure, even when I was well into high school. Often I would visit my grandparents on the weekend, and at some point, I would head outside to see my old friend and take a walk. Inevitably, adventure would happen. We would chase squirrels, chase cats, find good swimming holes, go rolling in mud, or just watch the sunset again, like we always used to do.
Duke was a sort of muse for me, just as Marley was for the author of that book. I only see this now, years after we ran together. Over the years, I lost my sense of adventure, and although it is a hotly debated topic, I like to think Duke is watching, waiting for me to get back to the place where I will go brave the woods with him and tree a squirrel or two before the sun goes down.
Ho, Duke!
No comments:
Post a Comment